The End Where We Begin
by pixienewt676
Summary: 'What happens when Persephone dwells in death and Hades learns to live' In which Olive Elephanta does not want to hurt anymore and Enoch O'Connor just wants to avoid (the) living as much as he could. AU. TW
1. We Drown in the Darkness

_Hi! Allow me to introduce to you this new story! So, even if I have Looping beside me, I couldn't seem to shake this idea off my head. I was actually kind of scared to share this because it has sensitive issues such as suicide and depression, but I figured, mental health is serious and we should spread awareness of it. By this way, hopefully, even though I'm not sure I did it justice in this chapter, I hope I could leave realizations such_ _as one, depression recognizes no face. Someone could either be the most optimistic or perfect person you know but they could still suffer from it. Two, not every person who has depression elicit symptoms, especially, explicitly. And_ _lastly, never take it as a joke or berate anybody who seeks for help. Do not make them feel shameful for what they feel because that doesn't help. Instead, we should be there for them and make them feel that someone cares for them. They matter. All of us, human beings matter._

 _TW: Suicide, mild scenarios of depression_

* * *

 **Chapter One:**

 **We Drown in the Darkness**

Now there was a girl who wanted to escape the world yet she couldn't fly. Her wings must've been clipped off from her back. Even so in the last scenarios of her life before the end, she was a stranger on her usual ground. She may have been Icarus somehow, lost in the modern world, drowning and numb.

Ever since she was young, she was reckless, impulsive, brave and kind. She once saw the world as an adventure for her to take. It should've been threatened with the optimism she possessed, but it surprised her with how ferocious it can attack. Everything went spiraling down once she dared to get close to the sun. The real world was harsh and bright, and she fought, and she lost.

There were struggles alongside the smile and the sweet gestures she gives. Some days, the current was calm, clinging to her back, but often times, out of nowhere, she was being swallowed by the tide, and she had trouble breathing. When it was too much, she was in the shallows, nearing close to the dark, the only sign of life was her eyes moving, but her muscles and bones slump weak upon her bed.

This girl then, was wearing yellow and had flowers in her matted brown curls. The road was still, a straight line up ahead. Despite that and the steady speed of her cab, though, vertigo wrapped her head and knocked upon her skull. Colors passed by in red, her eyes seemingly blinded by them. It didn't help either that her temple vibrated with the soft humming of the vehicle- everything was moving without her.

Her eyes did close- she no longer knew how to squeeze them shut. One, two, three, she counted. Breathe in and out, she tried, struggling to fill the void. There was an empty space within her, something that cracked and crumbled. All had turned into dust, and if she'd move, she'd sweep them further and further away. She's trying to hold onto what was left of herself.

"Are you alright, Ma'am?" The cabman asked. It seemed so that every and just about any attempt did not result to any fruit. She hummed, hollow, just about as quiet as for him not to hear. He was persuasive though, glancing at her through the mirror. She looked away, choosing to dig her already pressed forehead. She did not need to be swayed.

The birds fly on the blue sky, flopping their wings freely as their bodies sway without any further effort. She tried to guess then, what it must be like to live without the nonstop time and the ironies and well, life. For once, she wanted to be able not to be herself; not to be so attuned with her feelings and her heart. At that time, she did, for a moment.

She glanced at the man infront, then to the sky stretched above the dark blue seas below, and finally on the lock of the cab. One, two, three, she breathed, trying to ease the quiver of her hands though she did not feel the nerves.

Everything happened too fast. "Miss-" The cabman called, but he was too late, she already, successfully, pulled the lock and was out on the wide bridge.

She ran, puffing air in and out as she refused to look behind. The man must've seen her bewildered and lost look. He must've known why she snapped all of a sudden. She already left a ton of cash on the seat, there was no need for him to fret for her.

Her brain was having trouble functioning. The bridge erupted with honks from the traffic the cabman caused. "That woman, that woman, call the ambulance, the reinforcers-" He tried to reason out, his voice slightly weary from chasing her and trying to let the others know her state. She felt her heart ache then, for his concern. Yet, she couldn't, and she still didn't look back.

Her feet were frigid, awkward and clumsy. She almost slipped on the rail yet fearing for what were the commotion behind her, adrenaline kicked in and let her climb the few railings left. Her heart drummed in her ears and somewhere in the background, people were shouting incoherent sentences that she as well, cannot decipher.

Perhaps, if she was actively conscious back then, she'd see how her cheeks were stained with cold tears and her numb heart had been starting to feel all over again, yet was too afraid to register the hurt that'll surely wake her up. If she then wakes up, she'd see how shallow the area she was to jump into, see that it was way too high, see her mother, her father, her younger sister, or even the jackass who made her question her own existence, who made her see how bleak the world is.

But she let the numbness envelop her like thick wool. There was no escape left to live for. All she ever wanted was to fly.

And so she did.

When her foot left whatever it was that connected her to the world, air wrapped itself to her harshly, entering her body, forcing her to open her eyes as it burned them. The rocks below were sharp and the waves were slapping, shouting violently as though fighting with the harsh terrains. It was, as if, by mid air, the wool was yanked off of her and she was suddenly vulnerable. She could feel.

Feel her body without the gravity steadying her into an equilibrium, relinquish her arms flair around as if trying in vain to fly. Find herself, her fingers scratch into thin air for something, anything that will carry her up. "Wait" she tried to voice out, but her lungs were full of air, she felt as if they'd be enough to parachute her to safety.

"Wait, wait"

The slaps of the air were sharp and although she'd been catatonic for quite a while, her body burned with the harsh treatment. Every single emotion swirled in her head as she felt them simultaneously. Regret, sadness, panic, anger, confusion, and still, the most that stick around was regret.

Now, with her nature and her sick humor, she regrets uttering 'wait', probably because she just had delivered an eye watering sentence, great last words, to her precious sister before she left. She even resisted talking to the cabman and only gave him a paper that she knew she wouldn't make it through to go to. She decided that "Don't be sad for me, Ellie" was what she wanted her last sentence to be. But no, life made one final trick to ruin her.

That was the last thought she had before she went plunging onto the shallow sea. She was dropped with force, her right arm being the poor recipient of her fall; it gathered her weight and slammed onto the rocky ground, her head going along and bumping harshly afterwards. There was a resounding thud before she drowned, her brain merciful, making her stop feeling as her body physically struggled. She closed her eyes before she had to. Everything went dark, before it did.

* * *

On the other side of the city, there was a boy who lived, yet only with the dead. Now, he was just any other child, except he had some perks and quite a personality not everyone can understand.

He never liked to socialize, let alone, impress people, and nobody liked to be associated with him. When he was just a boy, he already stood out. Being the youngest son of a surgeon and a pathologist, he grew up in the hospital, knew what death was even before he could memorize how to count to one hundred, that alone made him different. Other little kids poked fun at him and called him foolish names that didn't even bug him. That thought made him realize he was probably, in fact, a peculiar child, and he didn't need them.

Other than his different personality, he too, knew that his peculiarity ran deeper than what society thought. You see, he can see spirits. Presumably, those that roam around his father's hospital, or his mother's morgue. His talent, like him, was picky, he could only see those who were not vengeful or even lonely, they were just plainly, idly waiting to depart from earth. Some took just a few days, while some took years.

Just like any other aspects of his life, he didn't understand why his aunt Alma, another human being he didn't mind, passed her talent to him. All he could remember was being drawn to her, being as strange as him, and they bonded nicely. She said he'd need it to thoroughly understand life one day. He thought she was only being philosophical, but he found himself not actually minding the ability.

Because well, the only ones he actually talk to were those who were dead. He didn't mind them and they didn't mind him. Perhaps that was what he liked about the arrangement, the dead and him both lacked life and craps to give.

Once upon a time though, he had a best friend, a boy named Victor who was around his age. He was confined in the hospital, his physical body vegetative but his spirit walking alongside Enoch. He got into a horrendous accident, a fight against his abusive father, risking his life to save his twin sister's. He wore the long scar on his pale face like a token, he was a bad ass. Surprisingly, with being 'deadpanned' he also, still had his kindness, even if spirits, what Enoch learned with being them, forget to feel.

Then, one day though, the silhouette, the pale spirit was gone, as well as the thumping heart in the boy's body.

Enoch mourned and his father only looked at him with pity and confusion, his mother, quite alarmed and suspecting. His older brother, his golden older brother, gave him a shoulder hug that he didn't need. They didn't know.

Once upon a second time, he was enthralled with a woman who remarkably had a bullet shot hole on her dress, going through the side of her tummy. She didn't much socialize with him and only roamed around like a true, mythical ghost. She was smart, empowered, and despite being a spirit, still held her head high as though she still felt her pride. For that, he truly made effort into proving to her he was very much alive.

She was lonely and he thought he could make her not so alone. He provided companionship, she danced around, liking the energy he brought, sucking out whatever sign of life he could pass. He asked her once if she didn't mind dying. She said she didn't, not with him making the most of her days. For a moment, he believed her. What other way then, to have her when any efforts were futile? They both believed she's to die soon.

For a moment she believed too. That was when she thought she had to. Before a certain man deemed Jacob Portman visited her unconscious body and begged every single day for her to come back, and that, the gunman was already arrested and he couldn't wait to see her at the campus again.

After a while, he didn't see her. And when he did, his heart leapt because there was no gaping bullet hole on her body, or was her skin pale and eyes dying. He was at the Italian restaurant on a cul-de-sac near the university he's studying in. She was there, seating so poised and elegantly upon her table. He reached for her then, his mouth sporting an awkward smile because he clearly didn't do so often. He called her, "Emma" and everything went haywire.

She couldn't remember him. He told her vaguely of who he is, someone from the hospital she grew acquaintances with. She easily shrugged him off, chuckling slightly as the wilderness of it all. A man, that Jacob whom he recognized, then came up from the restroom and placed his hand on her lower back, asking good natured of who he was. The gears in his head finally took pity of him. For her, he was nothing but a man who just happen to know her name.

That was when he promised to himself not to get attached on anything ever again. Life and time and irony were what he hated, for they make a fool out of him. The only way to escape was to dwell in something they could no longer touch, death. And so he move about much more catatonic as possible. Spirits come and go, some he could recognize, while the others, he simply didn't care about.

If he felt something, it was all for the sake of his physiology, for survival. He drank, ate, slept and studied, repeating the cycle every single day and he intended to last it until his end. What more can one annoy life, than to be passive? Nothing could hurt him- unless, well, in a physical sense.

It was the end of his idle day when everything began. He was at his seat in the family table, hearing chit chats and nodding if being talked to. Like the usual, his family did not bother forcing him to construct small talks and he was always grateful. His brother was discussing about his work as an engineer and he immediately lost interest. His mind was elsewhere, on everything really, just not on the conversation happening.

The deep voice of the newscaster reverted the whole table's attention. They were not much of a media induced household, the only time the flat screen's being used was only for the news, or the discovery channel. None of the family members had the chance of idleness and leisure, always busy with their duties that even then, with their children, they carried the habit.

"-rushed to Malcolm O'Connor's Hospital right after being rescued," as the man reported, the clip played on the screen. There was a body of a woman being carried the rescue boat, her face out of view but he saw one limp arm hanging from an orange life vest. His mother gasped and worried, her hands folding upon the table with a start of a silent prayer "Oh, William, do you know how she is now?"

"For the most part, at least, she's breathing and the broken bones were not fatal to worry about," unlike his mother, his father held a straight face, no doubt, trying to contain the emotions that sprung strongly. "but then, there was a trauma on the skull but thankfully, it was a closed injury. However, due to oxygen deprivation, she's in coma"

The conversation continued yet he found himself not in the mood to continue. He excused himself and made his way to his room, flopping onto the mattress and stared blankly onto nothingness. Possibly, by the time he'd visit, he'll meet the girl from the news. With that thought, he displaced his annoyance to the poor spirit of the unconscious woman, for she made him remember Emma Bloom. He closed his eyes before the sea of his memories swallow him whole. Everything went dark before he let his pity do it for him.

* * *

 _How was it? Any thoughts? Please let me know if I should continue this! Oh, and I just updated Looping recently, it's another enolive fic I'm working on, feel free to check it out :)_


	2. Barely Alive and Hardly Dead

_Hello! It's a long time coming since I updated any of my stories. College has been keeping me busy lately and the writer's block is too stubborn to let me go. I think I even forget how to write, so sorry if this chapter seems rusty. Nonetheless, I do hope you still have hope for this story! I am on the verge of completing the new chapter for Looping, though I seem to have no energy to finish the scene. Please do leave a review in hopes for getting me inspired again. Thank you everybody!_

* * *

 **Barely Alive;Hardly Dead**

There were a lot of things the girl had grown to accept about her life, including were willingly embracing being Olive the Elephant Girl for the most part of her childhood years, knew that she won't get to live the life she had always longed for without having raised brows upon, welcomed death halfway across, relinquished her last dying breath with overstimulation of it, accepted that she'd no longer feel anything at all, much less even think...

Her mind still processed, the darkness was all around her like a warm glove that enveloped her shivering body during the winter. It was working still, surely of something impossible for the dead. Somehow then, her eyes were moving faintly behind her eyelids, her muscles were numb, as though operating from a different body, but hers nonetheless.

Suddenly, her eyes sprung, browns warm and very much sees. There were no passing panic she should've had, nor was there any coffin that could constrict her from moving. She could still see the oranges and yellows that colored the white room she was in. It glared strongly, daring her to wake up. Much to her surprise, she felt hollow. Felt? Any sensation was foreign then, like a lost limb.

She straightened upon the bed, quite new with the world and unused with feeling nothing. On the background, next to her bed, the monitor beeped with every tug her heart makes, the hallway outside pattering light footsteps, but everything was out of earshot. She was lightweight and drowning at the same time, the noises were as if beneath the sea and she was stuck below. Out of reflex and her personality, her eyes widened. Memories of what had happened rolled over like stills from a film.

She was dead, wasn't she? There was pain, a crap load of pain that ended up knocking her cold. But the surveillance was eliciting screeching noises of the organ that pumps air and blood into her body- the body she cannot feel. Was she dreaming?

The door clicked open, though it resounded with nothing. A nurse in white shoes peered in, her eyes scanning the room before pushing the door wider. Two figures trailed behind the personnel and her eyes immediately recognized the same browns. Her mother was speaking, though her ears couldn't function. It was as if she was watching a three dimensional silent film, all she could do was stare and try to make sense of the scenario. But her mother's voice must've been dry, her eyes were blotchy from crying.

Olive shifted then, sitting upright in the queen sized bed. Her parents were distracted and they looked weary, as if they aged drastically overnight. Her mother looked as if her body had been slumping down for quite awhile that it got used to the posture, and her father's hair were all pepper, the remaining tendrils of brown were like rusts on silver pavement.

"Mom, Dad?" Her own voice resonated in her head as though trapped somewhere inside her body. Her words echoed in its walls and she hoped, waited for their attention.

The nurse glanced at her heart monitor and her father's eyes trailed to her. Close enough, she made herself believe that he saw her. Their brown eyes looked at each other, something she cannot believe would mean so much until..

Until it didn't showcase anything at all.

She hopped from her bed, her feet were not cladded- she had just realized, but she couldn't feel the cold floor underneath. Possibly, she was floating and that scared her- scared, if she could identify the widening of her eyes and the gasp that left her lips.

"Mommy, Daddy?" She wanted to cry, wanted to feel how scared she was, how vulnerable but soon to be safe in the arms of the two people who sheltered her for all her life. But all was far unreachable. It seemed as though she couldn't reach them now. It was as if she was on a bubble floating in the skies, yet she couldn't breathe. She couldn't leave.

A pregnant pause, then her mother sighed, slumping down to her father's shoulder as the man comforted his wife from the pain that they were both feeling. Her father sobbed then, exhaling largely and gravely, yet no tears could escape his eyes. They were reciting a statement, replaying it like a mantra, though Olive couldn't make sense of it.

She inched closer. Almost a breath away, their ragged breathing would have been moist. Her hand deliberately reached out, fingertips opened in a manner of receiving. Yet..

The bubble seemed to burst. No matter what resolve that held her back lets her go. Her hands, her pair that clung to the same parents who comforted her ever since she was young, can no longer touch even the light hairs of their arms. Her one foot has its ground, yet she still fell,

down, down to the ground that caught her and missed her at the same time. Beneath her, there were no pulse counts or even the rays that shone bright light against her eyes, but there was a faint whirling sound and there were shadows that blocked the florescent light above.

She sat up straight, her hands dug to the tiled floors though they felt as though phantom limbs. Before she had the time to register the new sensation, the upcoming noise from before whispered again, and then there was a wheeled stretcher rolling towards her, she was glued on the spot, closing her eyes as she prepared herself for the collision.

There was no panic, and there was also no pain. The cart moved through her, literally. There was just a rush of air, their panic, she even saw the bloody state of the man being carried, and the notion that that said patient just passed through where her digestive system was supposed to be, but she remained flat, her eyes just wide as saucers.

"What is happening to me?" she unintentionally shouted, though nobody seemed to care- at least that was what she wanted to believe. She knows she would be panicking at that moment, and her impulsive shout was a sign of her distress, but why can't she feel any of it?

She ran that busy hallway. Why? She did not actually know, it was some sort of automatic behavior. She knew she has such light feet but not to that extent, in which there was no sound being elicited at all.

If only her ears were working normally, she could've heard the nurse who was keeping track on her vitals a while ago, already left her room. The personnel was about to start climbing down the staircase when she saw her. "Miss, miss-" she hurried, racing herself first in order to corner the woman. She reached the lower level in such an impressive record of seconds that it was almost impossible- well, yes it is, it was due to her bare toes that passed through every stair.

She stretched her arms to the sides in preparation to having the woman's attention. "Miss what is happening to me? Can you see me?"

Still, like before, the woman's eyes were straight ahead, ignoring her as though she doesn't exist.

The nurse continued, passing her body, leaving some sort of mist. She was held aback slightly, as though hair strands on a windy day, as though chalk dust, she formed again. She huffed, spun and glared back at the woman, "well, excuse you, Miss, I'm standing right here."

She would've eventually resort to moping around, voicing random thoughts about her situation when there was a scoff somewhere down the hallway, onto the opening that she passed by in order to enter the floor.

Everything halted, more so she, especially. There stood a man, probably around her age. If she's uncertain if she's already dead or not, the presence of the guy gave her the vibes. He stood a foot taller than her, though she was not a tall girl to begin with. Nonetheless, he was tall, domineering over her. That height has a defined jaw and the bluest of eyes, but what stroke her even more was the rims under his eyes, making him have the dead set kind, as though seizing her soul. He looked like death.

He immediately reverted his eyes, though she was quick enough to notice.

What can she say that will be so eloquent he has no choice but to know she's to be taken seriously?

 _Greetings, I see you have the penchant for clairvoyance_

or

 _Oh, hello kind sir, may you be so kind to tell me what on earth is happening with me?_

"Hey," instead, that was what she came up with. She waved lamely.

That caught his attention. He blinked back at her, she stared back, her hand still raised and she found no willpower to accept defeat.

Then, the brow hidden behind his unkempt blond hair raised, she found hope in that, and so she smiled.

Apparently that was not the right move with the guy. He turned, slithering into darkness as his heels clicked. Strangely, she can hear his steps really clearly.

No matter how much he seemed like he could go on ignoring her for the rest of her days, she still followed suit. She was hopeless and curious as to why he seemed so clear to her and she seemed real or even alive to him.

She matched his steps, giving him just an inch of a lead because she doesn't know where to go. He couldn't murder her, she's already a ghost. Much like Casper, but less cute. "Oh, stop being dismissive, you can see me, can't you?"

She glanced at her bare toes, despite them being free from footwear, and of her having ghost powers, her dress still felt slightly heavy as though weighted with water. Now that she remembered, her phantom head and limb ached and hurt.

The man side glanced at her, unfortunately seeing her weirdly rubbing her arm in some sort of angle.

Beneath the lining of blinding lights, he was casted with shadows. Maybe she really was dead and the world she's moving in was only a mere copy. The guy must be an angel, or like, Charon, off to send her soul and making her passing more official. He loomed over her, his eyes darting a few times because he caught her shamelessly staring.

"Stop staring"

"Ah, so he can really see me"

Like a child caught with its hand in the cookie jar, he was taken aback, blinking a few in an attempt to ease his surprise, "no, I can't"

She would've scoffed then, but she was still unable to feel. Instead, she grinned half-heartedly.

"Oh, I haven't introduced-"

He stopped momentarily, cutting her off mid-sentence" "I know you"

She held both her hands together,

What can she say to that?

* * *

It seemed as though his life is slowly becoming more atypical, so much so that he no longer tries to put every puzzle into place.

Especially the girl next to him. She was an odd, eccentric piece, seemingly alive more than the rest of them, him as well.

She very much still looked like the girl from the news, albeit only having her limbs and a peak of her dress on screen. He didn't know what to make of her then, because he knew that experiences can make the brightest of all people melancholic.

Still, seeing her blatant idiotic side, he couldn't help but be taken aback by her sunny disposition. The spirits once told him that they couldn't feel anything at all, except the throbbing pain of what had caused their physical body to undergo coma. They move around as though operated by their personality, but there weren't any sensations left to feel.

The notion and well, his company were enough for them to appear as though stereotypical ghosts. Some even fade gradually, whatever color left soon turn into dust.

She waved at him, as though it was another random boring day and she saw him eyeing the same indie album she wanted for herself. It was as though she's not at the mercy of death at all.

As she neared him, every line of her body began to articulate as he draws life to them. Although she was eerily gray with cold, soft glow wrapping around her, he sees her warm dark brown eyes, the slight tinge that should've been on her cheeks, and the upturned raises on the corners of lips.

Really, how can she look so alive and dead at the same time?

But so does he.

He started walking then, cause what on earth would he do in that moment? Unfortunately, she followed suit.

She started babbling about him, her voice, a step deeper which was unexpected.

Apparently, she was talkative, as what was expected.

He felt her shift suddenly, her expression morphed in reaction to a sudden pain. Her brows furrowed, eyes shut tight with one hand on her head and the other forming into a fist. There was a slight groan that resonated from her throat, but he guesses she was not aware of it.

Her physical body must've been currently feeling it. His father said she collided onto something rough with sudden impact.

She must've noticed him looking at her, yet she still maintained rubbing hopelessly on her shoulder, trying to soothe herself.

They continued their way into the labyrinth that soon became his lair. It was perfect since nobody ever goes there and it was safe to say he has access in. Being a student of Medicine with the pressure of being the next O'Connor to continue the legacy was constricting, since he was not allowed to experience handling cases yet. He honestly felt like a joke, that his father doesn't deem him fit enough, even though underneath it all, logically, he knew it was just because of protocols and ethics.

He could feel her eyes boring at his face, she was shamelessly staring at him, which caused his cheeks to threaten him with the building heat. In their position, he has the upper hand, but the girl was bold and she doesn't even try

He called her off, not realizing that he exposed himself, whatever resolve he has crumbled in the ghostly hands of the chocolate eyed girl. She will be an annoying one, he can feel it.

She had an absolute come back, her cheeky grin making him groan inwardly for the days to come.

Then, she starts trying to introduce herself. His stomach flipping as he almost shouted at her. It wouldn't do good to break his ways, no matter if she's similar to Emma, or on the other side of the spectrum. He must not know her.

She seemed taken aback, but the look on her face quickly made him know she dismissed the harshness. Either she's that light in reality or it was just her incapability of feeling at the moment.

But for the most part, that seemed to shut her up. He couldn't shrug off the guilt though.

Instead, he lets her come with him. His throat clearing as he warns her that he'll be speaking, "you're barely alive, hardly dead"

She momentarily stops on her track, blinked a few times and went along with him. Her aura seemed to shrink, the huge glow around her turning light, he wondered how her physical body took the news.

"The In-Between?" her voice drifted off, eyes distant as if dissociating.

"Still in the land of living," he said a though it was a matter of fact, "but I prefer calling it hell, actually. There's a superlative hell, and there's this hell"

Behind the huge lines of windows, there was a wooden door, a consultation room of some sort, but was no longer used since the hospital was renovated. He opened the door and lets her in first, as if she doesn't have the ability to just slide past the walls.

The energy inside swarm with different auras, he can feel her respond to it too. Despite having him next to her, it was a whole different experience for the first time.

Once she saw, her eyes widen and she whipped her head onto him, he can only smirk back, saying in a melodic tone, "Welcome"

* * *

 _Hm, so what could possibly be the surprise behind the closed door?_


	3. In the Crack of Dawn We Find Daylight

_Hello guys, the monikers had originated from the series, though I would also like to give some love to the series called Ghostgirl by Tonya Hurley, for it has the ghost characters names based on their deaths as well._

 _TW: Description of (un)dead people_

 _The topic of depression and/or even suicide is a sensitive subject, and I pray that I'm not messing anything up, or portray it any more or less of any side. Remember, people are different from one another, and they experience and react to things varyingly as well. In this story, we have Olive, and she'll operate in what I think her personality, her traits, her attitudes would allow her to behave_.

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

 **In the Crack of Dawn We Find Daylight**

* * *

Like any other fictional book she had encountered, stories usually start with protagonists stating they were probably the most bland person to ever breathe. More so, in a world full of somebodies, they're insignificant, irrelevant, hiccups in society. Although these stories, even if people were aware of their fantasm quality, hold a form of sun in people's lives that Olive, for herself, couldn't help but still live in them. It's nice really, to have something to relate to, and then know that there's an adventure that awaits despite the routinely bleak suffering.

Olive, she really was no one special. But the thing was, maybe that's how every single human living on earth think of themselves? That's got to be the single most rational reason an irrational person like her could come up with in a situation she's in. Possibly, the phrase, "everyone's unique" was raising flags into warning every single body that life was more than one can think of it. There were things out there that human pair of eyes cannot see, and minds cannot fathom. Bigger, grander things kept secret by nature only to be found in the separation of soul and body.

Where did she get such philosophy?, one might ask. She must've hit her head pretty hard on that rock surface when she fell, causing her brain to come up with such surreal hallucinations, or maybe, just maybe, the silhouettes looking back at her were real, as existing as her own ghostly body.

Whichever it was, she accepted the situation with an optimism of a toddler just learning to partner few words altogether. It was confusing, yet exciting at the same time. All around her, the silhouettes were frigid, the yellow rays from outside passing through where skin were supposed to cover. A chill might've knocked her unconscious if it weren't for the fact that she was one of them.

One of them alike one of those, say, a half alive, questionably dead, woman who was staring at her with lifeless eyes, singed hair, and tattered blouse. She gulped as she scan the burned flesh underneath the woman's clothes.

All around her men and women, younger, older, unidentified or have met gruesome ends, she'd seen. They were all silent, staying still with eyes boring onto her own dull ones. She glanced momentarily at what seemed to be only living person towering over her, his eyes twinkling with mischief as was his mouth chuckling at her bewildered face.

She cleared her throat, frowning her brows, trying to clothe herself with bravery just to shut the man up.

"Hi guys" she waved, raising her lips into a smile. Immediately the room dropped its tight resolve, whatever tension seemed to cease as the other spirits seem to relax. She couldn't tell exactly how she'd known, but there was an energy, a tug that helped her understand the atmosphere. Despite the stone set eyes and the placid stance, she knew they welcomed her, and that was enough for her to let them in.

"Are you the Levitating Girl?" a small uncertain voice came from a height just below her elbow. What she saw made her smile even wider, and for certain her heart might've tugged. The girl reminded her of her little sister, Ellie. Though with golden curls and baby blue eyes, the little girl's innocence stare up at her with such deep trust, she couldn't help but drop to her knees, their eyes were cold but she's certain they're exactly as warm, "now, who told you of such thing?"

"Enoch did, he said you're the girl who can fly, will you show me?"

"Oh he did, now?" She tilted her head, looking at him through her lashes, her lips forming an amused smirk. She must've succeeded teasing, his cheeks heated with a soft blush, "Enoch?"

"One day, one day you will, darling"

"If I wake up, that is. I could die, you know"

She immediately sobered, her eyebrows furrowing as she was taken aback by how.. normal it seemed for the girl to just accept death. Somewhere around the hospital, her heart might've clenched for the little angel. She's too young, life wasn't supposed to make her grow up way too fast... then take her away just as sudden.

Enoch cleared his throat, kneeling down next to her. His warmth was radiating, affecting her into a strange comfort. She glanced at his blue eyes, smiling slightly. He nodded.

"That's why you're taking good care of yourself, right? Because you still want to play with dollies, swim with the mermaids," She watched as he talked, his usual snarky tone was replaced with a soft, reassuring one. Suddenly, she thought of him, hovering over her body beside her hospital cot, assuring her of fast recovery, and she believes in him. He caught her stare and winked, "and we still want to see the Levitating Girl fly, don't we?"

The little girl shifted her eyes from his to her, her feet rocking from soles to her toes.

"We will, won't we, Claire?" He titled his head, his brows disappearing in his light hair.

Seeing him now, it was strange to even think of him as some child of the Grim Reaper, the ferryman of souls, Charon, or even an allusion to Hades.

"Okay" Little Claire smiled, bouncing on her feet, "lets go Levitating Girl, we've been waiting so long to meet you!"

She looked at Enoch briskly before mentally being dragged by the little girl.

The room was an open office of some sort. Desks were piled evenly, distributed with four columns and four rows. Despite the overcrowded state of the room, the tables were left clean and untouched, and Olive was certain Enoch was not the type of person to go touching tables just for the sake of it.

But onto the most interesting at hand were those who occupied the said crowd. The first spirit to approach her was the same lady earlier, who might've been caught in a fire. Up close, Olive wouldn't think it was the same person, for what she imagined to have had a face full of anger and resentment was a woman with strong features contorted to a pleasant, friendly smile.

"I'm sorry, Claire can be somewhat excited most of the time" Olive would've easily shrugged off the unnecessary apology if it weren't for the fact that she was actually communicating with a person who looked as though she had just stood up and walked herself to the park right after a scene of an action film.

"I understand, my sister's like that all the time. It's good too, that despite the situation, she's still a chipper."

"We do whatever we can to keep her happy, especially in here, whatever this dimension is, there's still no certainty

"But I'll bet my life, you know? I'll bet my life for that kid. She deserves to live, there's so many things out there for her to discover, so many things that will bring a smile to her face." Olive stared as the compassionate woman stare meaningfully to the little girl. Claire was now sitting upon a bench, humming an eerie lullaby along with a man whose back was on them.

Olive may not know of her name, may not know the whole capacity of her personality, seeing as she, apparently, does not feel anything as well; as Olive correctly deduced. Yet, she understood how well and deep the woman's heart could weave people into it.

"they should still be playing with their toys or still find mud and puddles the most fascinating things in the world, not making acquaintances with death, and learn how to mourn for somebody, before having to shed tears over a math exam" Her voice drifted somewhat. She couldn't help but remember her little sister. How she must be dealing right now, Olive knew no amount of reassurance from anybody, even from her could make it any better. She's just so young. Even if she can forgive Olive, Olive wasn't sure if she could ever forgive herself.

The woman looked at her as though she understood, but not entirely trying to crash the boundaries she wasn't aware she'd built. It wasn't that she found her unworthy of knowing, she's not just ready to open the raw wound when it's still left bleeding.

And so instead, she blinked back in realization and finally asked the most vital question that nobody seemed to bother answering her with, "I hope you don't mind, but what the hell is happening to us?"

Finally back to what seems to be her curious, slightly panicking state, she whipped her head, glancing around the room once more, "are we like.. Enoch's hostages, is he a spirit trafficker? Will he sell us to those ghost investigators, and like, make objects move or something? Is that what the Levitating Girl is all about? Am I expected to actually levitate?"

Because if that was what her new name implied, she would surely fail at being probably dead, or somehow half alive.

The woman chuckled as her widened eyes betrayed her turmoil.

"No, not like that." She glanced at the man in question, who was thankfully minding his own business. "Come with me, Miss"

She guided Olive into the far most side of the room, where she's sure none of the spirits, especially Enoch, can hear them talk. Olive tried to perch onto the blinds, but stood her ground as she almost slipped outside the window. If the woman did notice, she made no comment on her behavior. But there's certainly a small smile that tugged.

"From little of what I know, Enoch has this ability ever since he was a child. He didn't know why he was bestowed with such gift, but here he is. And just like him, nobody knows why they're here,"

Olive glanced around once again, looking at little Claire, then to the shirt and suspenders-cladded man who was whistling a happy tune. He looked a tad older than her, probably because he wore his hair all shaggy and unkempt, or because he was more silhouette than anyone she'd seen so far; he was almost an orb, a soft flash of light, if not for his towering height.

It seemed that life did not treat him well, for there were signs of bruises on his exposed skin, and a ghost of tired, haunted eyes. However, there was a soft lift on his lips, and his hands were gentle as he played with the little girl.

"That's Stinger," The woman said, inclining her chin to the man, "not his real name"

"What, why?" Olive frowned, confused. She liked monikers and all that jazz, and she picked up that hers was probably The Levitating Girl. However, she cannot figure out why the man was a stinger. And why on earth do they have the names to begin with.

"One of Enoch's best names to be honest. He's a zoologist, though he's really passionate about beekeeping. Unlike most of us here, he's actually dead,"

"Dead dead?"

"Yeah. Never have I thought it was true, what they say, that souls still stick around if there's unfinished business, but here he is. And here we are, I believe.

"Lucky enough, unlike us, he knew his business. It's his missing wife. She left him for some kind of expedition, and there came a devastating accident around the area. Then, her body was not found. Fast forward a year later, everybody sort of gave up, saying it was a lost cause. Our poor Stinger did not, he hoped, hoped and hoped. Yet, he still died not knowing what ever happened to her."

She blinked, looking around as she eyed everything with new light. She identifies with them, she's one of them, Enoch's one of them, and just about everybody's one of them.

It was not the end, for it was still hell and earth and the heavens; there was still hope, still life, still living. They're stuck in the middle wherein they're just waiting, waiting for the fate everybody would eventually go, but with it's eyes glaring them.

Waiting, as they try to make sense of their own little lives, and what it meant to be themselves. Waiting, before the end, grasping to whatever it is they have to live for.

If she really was to die, what might be hers?

"How long is he, you know, living here?"

"He said he's been hanging around here probably a month or two before my brother, Victor, arrived.

For who knows how long it is already. Time seems to stop in this place, Miss. Our body and Mr. Enoch is our remaining link to this world."

Somewhere outside where she cannot see, there was a faint beeping. One that she associates as the heart monitor. Closer to the machine, there were murmurs of voices, however try as she might, she couldn't comprehend whom those were.

"I remember, kinda weird to see my own body face to face. I didn't know that's how I look like, if you know what I mean"

"I suppose so." The woman merely blinked at her, no doubt, labeling her cuckoo. However, to compensate, she, though, still nodded in politeness.

"How 'bout you, what are you called?"

"I'm called Strong Girl" she said, looking down to her feet, her cheeks would've colored if they could.

"Strong Girl?"

"Yes. When I was alive, I work as a volunteer, mostly for the fire department. My brother and I have this huge dream of becoming superheroes-"

"which you totally are"

"-oh dear, thank you for that." Olive glanced around, looking for the same face in the crowd, wanting to talk to the woman's brother in order to thank him for his service. "He died a few years back"

The time forwarded lazily, for she knew she'd been there for quite a while, though not exactly how long. Strong Girl had relied to her stories of her own brother, Victor. One of the few whom Enoch had taken the time to know the names. As the story progresses, Olive found herself staring at the man in question, who was lounging at one office chair as though he was not surrounded by death.

Victor appeared to be his closest friend; the best friend he allowed himself to have. He was more alive then, his laughter booming with boyish mirth, instead of his usual cynical allure. Looking at him, he seemed fitting with the spirits looming around, as though Victor, and many others had appeared more alive than he was now. How much did life took him, that he's more comfortable in the dark?

And how deeply does she relates to that? Of discovering that life, in a way, is predetermined to ruin you no matter how hard you struggle? Fairness isn't as simple as the television makes it to be. No amount of kindness could make you win if the world is angled with all the harsh edges.

Yet how strange it is, to think of life when you are about to die. There's a vitality of breath when you drown, and the appreciation of time when it's running out.

She looked at Little Claire, the smile on her face still reflecting what Olive had missed in the world. The sunshine after the entirety of darkness, the hope amidst the desperation, the life in the decay. If she were to die, will she wrap everything up quite nicely? Did she already made all the ends meet?

Could she really leave without saying good bye?

Her feet led her to the only man on the room who was carrying his physical body. His body radiates some form of electricity, of which she felt herself succumbing in a moment of breathing, it was as though bring recharged; like a machine she could almost feel herself, her skin, her hair, the ground she's walking upon.

Upon feeling her, Enoch plugged in his earbuds and exaggerates by raising his music's volume few bars louder than he normally does. Olive huffed, glaring at him as he obviously, blatantly ignores her.

"Hey" She tried, her arms wrapping themselves across her chest. There was no use trying to touch him, because she couldn't,and he'll only use it against her.

"Hey Enoch" She tried again, but to no avail.

She groaned, seemingly upset. He grinned as he felt her stare as though lasers against the back of his head.

"Fine." For about a heartbeat long, it was her turn to grin, realizing just then that she has the upper hand after all.

He waited, sensitive to the energy she's unknowingly giving. Among everybody, she has the brightest one yet, and was also the warmest; much to his chagrin because he finds her tiresome. She momentarily disappeared from behind him, no longer keeping him steady by her expressive eyes. He demands himself to stay put, to concentrate on the steady rhythm of life practically shouting at him by the earbuds, and yet he spun around, looking.

As what was expected, she long gave up and, on his part, thought she frolicked around and joined Claire, they were seemingly bonded right from the start.

However, as he went back and spun to his spot, "what the-" he jolted, catching himself off guard as he stared face to face, quite literally, with the Levitating Girl, her ashen skin a few inches from his pale face. Around them, some had the audacity to laugh, but he couldn't move as his heart thump loudly against his chest.

"Now, do I have your attention?" she asked, seemingly floating, true to her namesake, in front of him. "Fine, fine, you have me, what is it? Geez" He raised his hands in defeat, deciding to just give her his time otherwise who knows what she'd do. She even looks like the kind of spirit who'd walk pass his body just for the sake of it.

She glared at him icily, all the warmth he secretly associate her with has gone, even from her perpetually considerate eyes.

Yes, definitely the type who would use her "ghost" powers just to make fun of him.

"First of all, the Levitating Girl, really?" it was amazing that, when considering the nature of spirits, she could easily jump from one emotion to another. She smiled easily to him, as though she did not scare him just a heartbeat ago. He huffed a breath, still trying to calm his nerves down.

"Got any brighter namesake?"

"Yes, how 'bout my name? You know, that thing parents' give children to have their identities?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, grinning widely and immediately faltering it once she returned her own. "If we're just going to argue about names, then I suggest you go back there, you're only wasting your time"

She groaned dramatically. If she was alive, she would've planted her forehead on his table, but she's technically not. So as to avoid any embarrassing situation, she decided to clear her throat, pulling a professional stance in hopes he'd come around.

"Time, hmm, yes, that's what I'm here for" she inclined her chin, standing tall, however could actually easily be towered by Enoch's ranging height. "I would request for you to accompany me to the completion of my bucket list"

With an optimism of a newborn child's shrill first cry, of just discovering that the world outside was actually a load of bull, he stared at her dead in the eyes and said, "no"

"Come on Enoch, it'll be fun" if it was surprising to see someone act in such way to the aloof O'Connor, nobody dared to break the moment. With their idle time waiting, it had been so long since they've seen something quite extraordinary.

"Your fun and my fun doesn't constitute to similarity"

She eyes him narrowly, which had sent shivers run down his spine as the sudden whip of cold air pass by. "I'll follow you around"

"Nah, you can't"

She could. Unlike the others, she painfully, annoyingly could. Perhaps it was her personality that made her entirely attuned to him. If he had to guess, she probably bothers people just for fun.

"Oh I assure you, I most certainly can"

"Are you holding me hostage to my extra ordinary talent?" Knowing he can't do much about it, he groaned, yanking his ear plugs away to displace his annoyance.

"Not gonna say it's extraordinary.."

He raises his brows, and she easily caught herself, "right, yes, an exquisite talent, indeed."

She leaned onto him, slipping onto the table that separated both of them. She found no problem with the proximity, however he for one, was painfully aware. He could see the shadow of specks her dark eyes should've sported, and the light freckles that littered on the bridge of her nose "Listen, Enoch, my main squeeze,"

"please don't say that again-"

"I know, deep in my detached beating heart, you'll enjoy it too"

She twirled around, looking at everybody else in the room. The sun was beginning to set outside the confines of the room, the rays passing by the silhouettes and he vaguely thinks about what one might think when they happen to pass by and see him alone in an abandoned room, seemingly talking to himself.

There came a soft sigh from her lips, her feet supporting her heavy thought. He knew, he'll regret it later, however his heart tug guiltily as he saw her odd sad, sad eyes, "I'm not afraid of dying, I'm just afraid of what I'm leaving behind"

Well bullocks to that! What else can he do but nod?

He glared begrudgingly as she performed some type of victory dance, albeit quite awkward as she still hasn't gotten the life of it yet, but she's not caring about his judging eyes. The others looked at her in surprise and light envy, their hips mildly copying her movements; Claire however, had successfully shimmied and twirled. As the light came planting itself to her dead eyes, so was the slow downfall of the sun to his, his hope for unbothered days faltering in such torturous stroke, and the night will be long, promising itself of a nightmare.

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 _Review? :)_


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